The Sorting
by GuanacoRider
Summary: The hat talked of greatness, yet Sherlock didn't feel so great at the moment. He was having a civilized conversation with one of the most ancient pieces of clothe in history, and his mind couldn't stop thinking about the most random and unimportant topic at the moment… when was the last time somebody had washed that hat?/ AU


_The Sorting_

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He was eleven years old and he knew there was no way he was going to end up in the same house as his brother if he could help it. Sherlock knew he was being silly and immature and brat-ish- everything he'd sworn to try not to be if he was ever to make some friends in the new school- but he couldn't help it.

The youngest of the Holmes' siblings frowned upon the sorting hat, as if the ancient piece of clothe was at fault, and looked into the Headmistress eyes. She gave him an encouraging smile urging him to sit down on the tall seat. While doing so, his mind wandered a few seconds about the screaming- it was pretty obvious- fact that the woman was an animagus, starting to make a mental list of all the possible animals she could (maybe) turned into. _A cat_ , he finally stated, _or some kind of feline_.

At some point in that internal debate that lasted no more than a few seconds, he had sat down and wore the hat.

"Well, well, well" -a voice that spoke of time sounded clear and omnipresent inside his head- "if it isn't another Holmes, your brother was one of the easiest sortings I've made in some years"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, in childish contemp.

"But yours won't be so easy, will it?"

From the hat's tone, Sherlock imagined a crooked and easy smile between its folds of cloth, in the place where a mouth should've been.

"And it seems you don't want to be put in the same House as your brother, a pity if you asked me, you, Sherlock Holmes, could be great, very great, in the Noble house of Slytherin"

He subtly shook his head.

" _I thought greatness could be achieved through any of the Houses_ "

The hat laughed well-natured at his reply, which sounded too wise for someone of his age.

"Yes, yes, no doubt about it"- it paused and thoughtfully continued- "the trick is to find in which house you could be the best version of that greatness"

The hat talked of greatness, yet Sherlock didn't feel so great at the moment. He was having a civilized conversation with one of the most ancient pieces of clothe in history, and his mind couldn't stop thinking about the most random and unimportant topic at the moment… when was the last time somebody had washed that hat? Because cleaning spells could be a good alternative to a bath for one- maybe two consecutive times but, how long could one last using those spells instead of bathing?

Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to smell the answer to his question through his nose. He was tempted to just take the hat off and inspection it.

"A great mind indeed"

Sherlock was brought once again to the situation at hand.

The hat fell silent, and he started to feel an odd mixture of anxiousness and boredom. Finally, after what it seemed an eternity, it spoke loudly, towards the Great Hall.

"Ravenclaw"

When Sherlock went to his House's Table, he noticed his brother and most of the teachers were looking pensively at him.

His sorting had lasted seven minutes, the longest of the century.

.

.

John was twelve years old when he waited, like the rest of the Hall, seven minutes for that new kid to be sorted into some house. He remembered how his own sorting had also lasted more than the rest of the boys and girls in his year- though not quite as long as this one.

The Sorting Hat spent two minutes and a half deciding if John should be put into Hufflepuf or Gryffindor, before screaming the lion's house for everyone to hear.

He remembered the tight ball of nerves he had been, and absently wandered if that new kid was feeling the same. When the hat calmly stated his decision, John couldn't help but notice with some interest the Hat's enthusiasm, or rather, the lack of it. It seemed, almost, lost in thought. When the kid jumped from the seat towards his house, the Gryffindor took a look around, sensing the pensive and curious stares professors and older students were throwing to the new Ravenclaw. Who, in John amused opinion, looked nothing but lost in thought himself, perfectly and neatly ignoring the rest of the Hall.

After some seconds, the Headmistress' voice cut like a knife through perfect silence, breaking the spell that had somehow fallen on students and the staff.

The sorting continued, and John's mind pushed the picture of that curious kid to some dark corner, while watching the other first years getting sorted.

.

 _So I should be studying and making that damn chemistry report but well... I realized there are- like- cero fanfics of a Ravenclaw Sherlock out there. This is just a one-shot, maybe I'll write another, maybe I won't, but I'm pretty happy with this one._

 _Review if you also support a Raveclaw Sherlock and a Gryffindor John... and a talkative Sorting Hat! ;)_

 _(Btw: It has come to my attention this fandom is pretty dead in fanfiction :o )_


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